


there isn't anything to worry about

by AGracefulShadow



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern, Angst, Contest Entry, F/F, Repost from Amino, This is Bad, You Have Been Warned, actually this WON the contest and I'm still freaking out, like really bad I don't know how it won, not a surprise coming from me but like, prompt: lying, really bad., seriously, tw suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGracefulShadow/pseuds/AGracefulShadow
Summary: Perhaps if Sonya had picked up the signs earlier, she could have intervened.





	there isn't anything to worry about

Perhaps, if Sonya had picked up the signs earlier, she could have intervened.

She only saw the girl once a week, on Tuesday, from five-thirty to eight-thirty, like clockwork. She saw the girl so little but so much had happened to Sonya between those visits that she was beating herself up over the aftermath. It wasn't like she could have done anything, she told herself. It would have ended so badly anyway.

She had met the girl at the library, while she was looking for books for a paper for her comparative religion class that she was beginning to regret taking. She had been pulling books off the shelf, searching for any sources for her thesis. They had both grabbed the same one, and...

Sonya would like to say it was love at first sight -- touch, their fingers had brushed against each other -- and maybe for herself it was, but she had no idea about the other girl. And it didn't seem like how she had thought love was; there was no rush of cool air or sudden sixth sense saying "yes, this is the one". All there was was Sonya pulling away in surprise and the girl pulling away and shrinking into herself.

_"Take the book, I don't need it."_

Sonya had looked at her in confusion. "No, here," she said, pulling it out and handing it to the girl. "It probably doesn't have what I'm looking for anyway." She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"What you're looking for?" the girl had asked. And that had sparked a conversation, the first of weeks and weeks and months of conversation.

Well, every Tuesday.

At first, it had been fine. Sonya would come to the library with her schoolwork and start on it, and the girl (Sonya could never remember her name, no matter what she did) would arrive at five thirty sharp, sit down across from her, and somehow, they would start talking, and three hours that before had been used for work now were filled with conversation Sonya hadn't even known she had needed. Her pencils would lie forgotten on the table, her notes half-finished. And she ended up wasting time that could have been spent on those papers, but it didn't feel like wasting to her. It felt more natural than doing mindless schoolwork. It felt right.

Six months passed, six perfect months, before something... shifted. Something changed. Something went wrong. And Sonya couldn't figure out what it was for the life of her.

It had something to do with how quiet the girl was getting. She had never been much of a talker in the first place, so it was hard for Sonya to pick up on this. And at first, she didn't. But then the girl barely spoke at all, and Sonya started to ask questions.

"Is something wrong?" she had said. "You're not talking as much anymore."

The girl had looked up in surprise, smiled, and waved it off. "N-no, I'm fine," she said. "Just haven't had as much to say."

But she had a bad poker face. Sonya had tilted her head ever so slightly to the side. "You sure...?" she ventured, with obvious concern.

The girl nodded quickly. "I--I really am," she had replied. "I just... I..." She stared at the table and shrugged.

She didn't say anything else for a good ten minutes at least.

Sonya didn't ask any further questions.

That was the first day she had noticed something wrong about her mystery girl. From there, it only got worse.

The girl was getting frailer -- not in a physical sense, per se (although that was part of it). It was more like the kind of frail something that would eat you away from the inside out would make you, the kind where you can see metaphysical claw marks scratched evenly across skin, matching others that were there for... other reasons. It was the kind of thing that tore others apart watching, and Sonya at first... ignored it.

Ignored it wasn't the right word, no. It's not that she ignored it. It's that she didn't ask about it. She didn't question the sudden obsession with turtlenecks that hung loosely from ribs -- the girl had always been modest, and it wasn't -- couldn't be -- a sign of something wrong. She didn't question how quiet the girl had become -- hadn't she always spoken this little? She didn't ask "Hey, are you okay?" not once.

She was afraid of the answer.

All things have a breaking point, and goddamn it, Sonya was worried about the girl. It was getting to the point where it was eating her up inside as well, making it impossible to sleep at night what with the thousands of theories bouncing around her brain, each leading to the worst possible outcome, each making her toss and turn and pace and try not to make too much noise to disturb Natasha and Marya (and that didn't work --Natasha always knew) in efforts to make the thoughts *go away*.

So she asked the girl, once again, "What's wrong? You look..." She had trailed off and chewed on the eraser of her pencil, trying to ignore the sudden expression of anxiety that crossed the girl's face when she asked that.

"I look what...?" she had repeated, fumbling with the sleeves of the oversized turtleneck she was wearing.

Sonya stared at the girl, studying her face and her hands and god she looked terrible but Sonya couldn't exactly say that, could she? So instead she shrugged, doodled a line on the paper in front of her, tried to ignore the face of the girl across from her, and spoke.

"...Hollow."

She looked up and met the girl's eyes, pencil rolling forgotten across the table. She wondered if she had said the wrong thing -- the silence between them swallowed her whole, it was so dense.

It could have been minutes, could have been hours, could have been mere seconds before the girl broke eye contact and shook her head. "I don't..." she started, then stopped, then chewed on her collar childishly, before she began again. "I mean, I-I do... I don't..." She shrugged and didn't look up from the one spot on the table that was uncluttered with papers. "I'm sorry. It isn't anything to worry about." She laughed without anything behind it; there was definitely nothing funny about anything that was happening.

Sonya didn't believe her -- how could she,Â  when the girl was wilting like a solitary flower in an empty vase? But she didn't say anything again, didn't force the words out of the girl. She just nodded and whispered, "Alright," as if it were okay, as if nothing had happened.

She kept drawing on her notebook paper, little hearts and flowers and happy things, ignoring the silence and the forever hungry anxiety in her stomach.

From there, it plateaued in a way -- the girl wasn't getting any better, no, but she wasn't getting any worse. She was still quiet, nearly silent, and she had still had dark circles under her eyes that she didn't even bother to try and hide, and she still had an obsession with turtlenecks a few sizes too large, but she wasn't changing for worse. And that did do something to calm Sonya's nerves, just enough for some part of her to whisper, "This is the new normal," and it did give her something to watch for more changes, but then again, this was the new normal, and it shouldn't be, it shouldn't be, right?

And so Sonya worried and fretted and wondered how exactly she could get the mystery girl to tell her what was really happening, why wasn't she getting help, *what caused this*, and eventually it started to manifest in external habits, like chewing her nails (she thought she had broken that habit years ago) or obsessively petting Detka in hopes of reaping the supposed health benefits of dog fur (and he didn't mind, although he did squish her when he climbed on her lap) or perhaps worst of all, sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing except staring at the wall, lost in her own thoughts, sometimes with a book or a bowl of Ramen in front of her. And that how Natasha found her one evening, and also when Sonya caught on to herself.

"Sonya," Natasha was repeating, over and over again, "Son-ya, So-fi-a. Cuz." She stopped talking and tapped her foot like a rabbit. "If you don't answer I'm gonna eat your Ramen, not that it's even warm anymore anyway--"

"Huh?" Sonya had said as she blinked back into the real world. "Hey, I was..." She sighed and stretched out on the couch. "Actually, you can have it. Not hungry right now anyway." With a vague wave at the bowl of Eastern Asian-inspired noodles resting on top of the coffee table, she settled back into the cushions and refocused her attention on a fresh paint of wall.

Natasha made a "hmm" noise and sat down next to her. "So, what's up?" she asked, just as Sonya was about to space out again.

"What do you mean?" Sonya yawned.

Natasha huffed and poked Sonya's knee. "Something just seems off, like, in general." Shrugging, she reached out and grabbed the bowl of cold noodles. "Care to tell me about it?"

Sonya shrugged, unsure of how to put this jumbled mess of thoughts into words. "I guess...?" Her voice was uncertain.

"C'mon, you know you can tell me anything." Natasha poked Sonya with the fork and made an interesting face. "This is so cold, what the hell. I'm gonna go nuke it, you can talk." She stood up and walked over to the little kitchen.

Sonya nodded. "Its kind of a long story...?" she stalled, tilting her head. "Well, I mean..."

"Tell me-e-e," Natasha mock-whined, and Sonya had to tell her now; when Natasha wanted to know, she wanted to know.

So she started talking. "Remember the girl I told you about, at the library?" she began.

Natasha grinned, which struck Sonya as odd. "What about her?" she asked, pushing buttons on the microwave and making loud, annoying beeps.

"Well, uh..." Sonya scratched the back of her hand, a million different starting points circling through her mind. She was tongue tied, fear of what she was saying becoming real keeping her a stammering mess. She hadn't thought about that before, about why she hadn't told anyone.

Natasha made a sort of, "go on" motion with her hands as she walked back to the couch, and Sonya took a deep breath and had to begin. With careful words, she explained most of what happened, skimming over some details, specifically about the turtlenecks. It felt weird to say it out loud. It wasn't even her problem to begin with, but it still felt odd, like a weight had been released. And Natasha was the perfect person to tell first. She was listening intently, her eyes locked with Sonya's the way she did when she was truly paying attention to something.

After a few minutes, Sonya trailed off and stopped, her voice wavering a little. "What are you thinking?" she asked her friend, who had an interesting look in her eyes.

Natasha shrugged. "Nothing, really," she chirped. "You done or is there some other detail you haven't told me?" She tilted her head and smiled innocently.

"I suppose, nothing important really," Sonya said. "What?"

"Just thinking." Natasha picked at a loose fabric on the couch. "So I have a question."

Sonya nodded, a little confused. "Yeah?" she asked, preparing for something that she had no idea how to respond to.

"What color did you say her eyes were?"

Sonya paused. Now, she was definitely confused at the non sequitur Natasha had just thrown at her. "Huh?" She raised an eyebrow quizzically and tried to wonder how what color the mystery girl's eyes were had to do with the situation she was in.

Natasha nodded. "You heard me. It's really important." She grinned and continued to pick at the couch cushion.

"A-alrighty," Sonya said, before thinking for a brief moment. "They're brown, a light brown, and they're full of...emotion, and they're really bright, kind of the last part of her that is, right now, I guess. And she thinks they're boring, but they fit her-- But what does that have to do with her problem?" She stopped talking and stared harder atÂ  Natasha, who was chewing her lip in a futile attempt to keep back a smile. "What's with the face?"

Natasha squeaked, and all of her words tumbled out at once. "You're in love, cuz." She grinned wider and poked Sonya's knee again. "That's why you care so much."Â 

Sonya stopped, any argument she had dying before it even finished being a thought. "I-in love?" she breathed, focusing at some far off corner of the room. Just like that, she had a completely different perspective on the entire situation from both points of view. "Uh, you're... How do you...?" She blinked aimlessly at Natasha and dropped her hand to the cushion.

Natasha just nodded, now fiddling with her sock. "Obviously. You're picking up on like, really tiny details about the problem, like exactly when and where you noticed the stuff, and like everything else. And her eyes." She shrugged coolly.Â  "It's really obvious."

"Well, no, but..." Sonya trailed off again, left once more without her argument. There wasn't one, not a good one anyway. Natasha was right; Sonya was love with her mystery girl. How she hadn't noticed it herself was beyond her. At least she knew now.

"See? Maybe there's nothing wrong at all and you're just hyperimagining things or. something like that," Natasha said. "Imma go eat your Ramen now." With that, she stood from the couch and approached the angrily beeping microwave.

That struck a sour note with Sonya, the idea that there might not be anything wrong. It was as if Natasha were neglecting it, or pushing it aside, something she wasn't typically one to do.Â  Sonya knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was wrong, something big. She decided to brush it off asÂ  Natasha not seeing it herself and picked up a notebook and started to doodle something happy, in an attempt to take her mind off of the whole situation.

Tomorrow was Tuesday. She would see her mystery girl then. Except now there was a problem, now that Sonya understood things herself. Would it be right to tell her so soon? Would it change anything? Would it make things worse?

Anxious and frustrated, she scribbled over the sleeping kitten she had drawn in the margins, tearing the paper under the tip of her pen. Nothing in life came easily; if anything, Sonya was the best person to understand that, what with her own past behind her. Despite knowing that, she still hated it.

Gently, she closed the notebook and stood, smoothing the fabric of her shirt over and over again. Natasha gave her a confused look from the kitchen. "You look even more upset than earlier," she called around a mouthful of noodles. "You okay?"

Sonya shook her head, but said, "Fine, I'm fine," which was perhaps the farthest thing from the truth. No, she was not okay, but it was stupid enough that she didn't want to talk about it. "I'm just gonna walk Detka, looks like he needs it," she offered pitifully. The big German Shepard bounced his head up excitedly at the mention of a walk.

Natasha puffed air out of her cheeks, but nodded. "Sure thing, cuz," she replied, obvious disbelief in her voice.

Sonya nodded and swallowed, grabbing the leash by the door and pushing the world out of the way.

She didn't sleep that night. Stress kept her from closing her eyes without a sudden thought forcing her awake again. Worst-case scenarios circled through her skull like some twisted carousel, taunting her and deepening the pit in her stomach to the point of her feeling like she would fall in. Emotions ebbed and flowed as tides do, pulling her through a roller coaster of feelings that made everything worse.

Strange, how love, the most romanticized of feelings, the most beautiful feeling in the world, the chemical reaction that led people to write thousands upon thousands of words of their beloved, could cause so much anxiety, Sonya thought, surprisingly bitter. She didn't want to think about that now.

The morning sun had been both a blessing and a curse that day. It filtered in through the half-drawn blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Never had Sonya been so gracious to see the dawn that she could remember -- but never before had she had such a premonitory feeling of dread about the coming day.

She had gone through it anyway, half in a daze. Nothing happened, or if it did, she hadn't remembered any of it. She hadn't cared. She had just wanted the anxious knot in her stomach to go away, but with every passing minute it was getting tighter, until she wasn't sure she could breathe anymore. She couldn't let whatever thought it was get to her; it was probably just that, a thought. There was nothing to worry about.

She could barely write when the girl arrived at five-thirty, her hands were shaking that badly. She had dropped the pen and let it roll across the table. "Hey," she had said, waving, as the girl sat across from her.

"Hi," the girl had replied, her voice different than usual. Whether it was good different or bad different, Sonya couldn't tell. "How are you?"

Same conversation starter. Sonya shrugged and picked the pen up again, trying to write something. "Ah, fine," she stammered, doodling something in the notes. "School is doing what school does, you know?" She tilted her head up and offered a smile. She had just lied through her teeth.

The mystery girl didn't seem to notice. Or rather, if she did, she hadn't said anything. "You can get through it," she had said. "You always-- always will." She laughed without anything behind it, which didn't sit well with Sonya.

"Suppose I have to, huh?" she replied. The pen scratched across the paper as she filled in another doodle.

And just like that, it was quiet.

Sonya didn't like that quiet.

"So," she said after a while.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?" she asked, and Sonya found herself wondering how she never noticed that she was in love before now.

She was staring. She shook her head. "Well, no," she began, stopped, and then started again. "Actually..."

The girl had looked at her again, more confused than anything, with just a hint of something else. Sonya stared at the wall behind her. "I have to go to the bathroom, uh, be right back," she stammered quickly, rising to do so. The girl nodded, and Sonya had escaped before she could say or do anything idiotic.

The anxiety had not gone away. In fact, it had only gotten worse, and was now coupled with a strange sense of breaking everything she touches. She splashed some water onto her face and walked out.

Thankfully, the girl was still there; Sonya hadn't known why she would have thought she wasn't. She smiled and slid back into the chair. "Better?" the girl had said, fiddling with Sonya's abandoned pen.

"Yeah," she replied. "So..."

And she started a conversation, and they went back and forth, and it seemed like there was nothing to worry about. After all, the girl was actually talking for the first time in ages, having an actual conversation instead of just listening to Sonya, however nice that would be. Perhaps she was getting better. Life was getting better.

Still, the feeling didn't fade entirely. There was an odd sort of closure to the conversation, as if this were the last time they would talk to each other ever. The thought latched onto Sonya like a leech and wouldn't let go, and it took a lot of work to keep talking normally. She pushed it as far aside as she could.

The evening had drawn to a close much sooner than Sonya had hoped it would, but the clock read eight thirty, and that was how the girl worked. She had stood up, and then she stopped, hesitant, her fingers resting on the table.

Sonya bounced a pencil on her notebook. "What?" she asked, tilting her head.

The girl shook her head. "Ah, nothing," she replied, shrugging. "Just... Nothing. Good bye, Sonya." And she waved and turned away.

"Oh, okay! See ya," Sonya called after the girl, raising her hand in a wave. She couldn't figure out what that meant, the way she said "good bye" like she had. It piled more onto the anxiety lurking in the dark corners of Sonya's mind, added more reasoning for this being the last time the two would ever talk again. She shuddered, staring after the door. It couldn't be the last time, could it?

Next thing she knew, she was running out of the door to try and catch up to the mystery girl, her school things forgotten on the table behind them. Outside was dark and cold, with chunks of midwinter snow, the kind that wouldn't stick to anything but was there as a nuisance, falling from the sky. Streetlights illuminated where neon signs didn't. Sonya regretted not grabbing her jacket as a gust of wind blew flurries into her face. She shivered and jogged down the sidewalk, wishing she could only remember the girl's name.

The girl hadn't gotten far, thankfully, only about halfway down the slushy block. Sonya skidded down the road and stopped at a streetlight. Her thoughts were scattered like a spilled box of papers, words tangling around in her mind. She stopped, breathing caught somewhere between her mouth and her lungs, and managed to say something: "Wait...!"

The girl turned around. "What?" she asked, obvious concern and confusion in her voice. "Why...?"

"I... This may sound stupid but," Sonya stammered, "I can't stop thinking that this is the last time that we're gonna talk to each other, even though you're getting better, and..." She stopped, shaking her head. There was no way she could say what she wanted to. Not now. Too risky. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and continued. "Look, I know this is really ridiculous, and-- just, can you tell me that this isn't? Or some--"

She was cut off by the girl resting her hand on Sonya's arm. "I understand, relax," she said softly, and Sonya began to think that it was going to be okay. A weight rose off of her chest, and the girl spoke again. "To tell you the truth, I don't know.Â  And I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and stared at the ground. Sonya couldn't help but count the snowflakes in her hair. "I wish I could tell you why... this... but I don't have the words. And this... Isn't the right place." She looked up and offered a faint smile. "Maybe some other time."

The weight came crashing down again like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of Sonya all over again. It felt like a lie. It looked like a lie. She couldn't explain it.

She couldn't say anything, though. "Do you promise...?" she said instead. "Please, it won't go away if you don't."

The girl smiled again. "We'll have to see," she said quietly, dropping her arm. For a second, their fingers brushed together, and the girl waved and walked off again.

Sonya nodded and waved. "We... We will, won't we?" she whispered, leaning against the street post.

Her thoughts swirled around her head like the flurrying snow as she watched the girl go. Nothing in that interaction helped calm her. Nothing helped soothe the anxiety. There was no sense of closure from that.

She stood outside for another few minutes before the cold got too unbearable and she had to go back inside. From there, she went home, barely able to concentrate on driving.

She hadn't noticed the extra piece of paper until she had gotten home and taken her notes out on her bed. It had been haphazardly shoved in there, as if there wasn't any time to put it in. Sonya raised an eyebrow and pulled it out. It was a simple piece of notebook paper folded like a letter. Sonya's name was written on the back in pen.

She unfolded the paper and started to read it. It was a letter, about half the page long.

_Dear Sonya,_

_I'm sorry. I lied._

 

_I had to. I didn't know how to tell you and... I didn't think you would care. I know, you would say that you do and... I am sure that you would. But I can't convince myself not to think that. Surely you understand, right?_

 

_I... I wish I knew what to say, and how to say it, and when. Because this isn't how, and this isn't what, and this is so far from the right time. But I don't think I'll have any other time, especially after this._

 

_This isn't about you. Please don't think this is your fault. You were never anything but helpful. And I wish that you were all I needed but I need something else. Would that I knew what, I would, have gotten it by now._

 

_I don't talk about home for a reason. It's a long story, one that I don't have time or energy to explain. It's draining, and I want to forget it. In short, its my father. He's gotten older and developed dementia and he's angry. He takes it out on me in any way he can think of. He's gone back to old thinking from his generation and without my brother or my mother there's nothing there to act as a buffer. Its been going on for years and its gotten worse recently, much, much worse. Taking food away, yelling constantly, not letting me out if the house except on certain days, I could go on. I don't want to._

 

_He threatened to take Tuesday away from me, too._

 

_I hate it. I hate that I can't escape. I wish I could talk to you more. I wish I was free to move out. I wish he would go back to how he was when Andrey was still here, and I keep praying and asking for help and trying and it just gets worse and worse. I don't think I can take anymore of it._

 

_I am so sorry, Sonya._

 

_Another day._

 

_Good bye,_

  
_Mary_


End file.
